


Rhapsody in Blue

by Siobhane



Category: Final Fantasy VIII
Genre: Alcohol, Alternate Universe - 1920s, Alternate Universe - Prohibition Era, Bootlegging, F/M, Flappers, Gen, Physical Abuse, Speakeasies
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-01-18
Updated: 2019-01-24
Packaged: 2019-10-12 03:13:45
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 7,750
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17459543
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Siobhane/pseuds/Siobhane
Summary: When Selphie convinces Rinoa to visit a Speakeasy for a night of dancing and illegal drink, a chance encounter with a dashing and mysterious Bootlegger turns her whole world upside down.Roaring 20's AU.





	1. Chapter 1

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Do I need to start something new? No, I don't. But, I'm not inspired to work on any of my wip's and actually have motivation to write. Maybe it's better to write what my brain says to write, instead of just staring stupidly for hours at a half finished chapter of something I'm not feeling right now.
> 
> I have a working knowledge of this era but am by no means an expert. I've tried to keep most things era appropriate, but it's fanfic so some liberties have been taken. You can expect a blend of canon locations a d elements mixed with references to the southern United States, though I've chosen to keep specific geography vague.

**Prologue**

 

Rain pelted the windshield and rattled the canvas top of the Marmon Speedster, the road ahead a narrow, muddy orange river in the headlights. Beside him, the young woman turned sideways in the seat to watch for headlights behind them. In her lap, the gun trembled above spangled fabric, her grip on it tight and ready to fire.

This was their last, best chance for escape. There was no turning back.

“We'll be okay,” he promised. “It's not much further.”

She nodded and her free hand sought his in the darkness. Her fingers were damp and cold in his grip, but he squeezed back, making a silent promise to see this through to the end. He didn't need words when he had this. This was all he needed. To hell with everything else.

The car skidded in the mud, the wheels struggling to find purchase. He stepped on the gas and steered it out of the rut, holding his breath until rubber met road again. These conditions were not ideal for driving, and even worse for escape, but it could work in their favor. Visibility was poor, but no doubt, their pursuers were just as hampered by the washed out roads as he was.

She tensed and turned fully around in her seat, lifted the gun, and uttered a soft curse. He glanced in the side mirror and echoed her swear.

“You could tell them I kidnapped you,” he said. “It's not too late. You'd be safe.”

“No,” she said with conviction. “You and me. Like we promised.”

He sighed and a great sorrow filled his heart. Regret that they would not get more time together. He hadn't meant to get her involved.

“We're not going down without a fight,” she said. “Keep going, okay? No matter what happens, you keep going until you can't go anymore.”

He nodded and stomped the gas as the pursuit vehicle's lights drew closer. There was a pop, then a second, a third. Something hit the back end – a bullet – and he pressed the gas pedal to the floor.

“Get down and stay down,” he ordered.

She didn't obey. She went up on a knee and fired at the approaching vehicle through the back window. The blast was deafening. The glass in the side mirror shattered and he swerved to avoid the incoming rounds. Bullets peppered the back of the car, and the scent of rain filled the cab.

More shots. _Pop, pop, pop_. His hands tightened around the steering wheel and he said a silent prayer. They were almost there.  

Up ahead, the bridge was underwater. The creek had overflowed. Fast, rushing water spilled across the road, taking with it chunks of rocks and downed bits of trees.

There was nowhere to go. Forward was a death sentence. Back was death by firing squad.

He slowed the speedster ahead of the rushing current. There was no chance of making it to the other side alive. The current was too strong.  

This was it.

He looked to her and she looked back. Her eyes were round with fear, but she reached for him, pressed a kiss to his lips and said:

“Step on it.”

 

* * *

 

**_One_ **

  
Rinoa looked up from her novel at the sound of a car coming up the oak-lined drive, squinted through the bars of the porch railing, and sighed at the sight of Seifer's brand-new Marmon Speedster gleaming in the afternoon sun. He hadn't stopped talking about the thing since he got it two weeks ago, and while she thoroughly enjoyed racing down the road in a fancy new breezer with the wind in her hair, his boasting had grown a little stale.

She also didn't like that he chose to show up in the middle of the day unannounced like this. Three dates, and he already thought he owned her? She hoped not.

He was the first young man she'd really liked in a long time.  He actually had personality, even if he was a touch too arrogant around his peers. There was something feisty and charismatic about him, a fire that all the others seemed to lack.

Seifer Almasy was charming, clean-cut, smart, funny, and confident, and that particular assortment of qualities didn't usually come packaged together. Especially not in a man who also happened to be deliciously handsome, tall, and seemingly well-off.

Perhaps his unannounced arrival was a sign of spontaneity. Spontaneity could keep the relationship interesting.

He honked that obnoxious horn he loved so much as he slowed to a stop under a Spanish moss draped oak and lifted a hand to wave. Rinoa set her novel aside, stood, and smoothed down the fabric of her pale blue day dress as he climbed out, hoping that she didn't look like she'd been sweating to death all afternoon out here on the porch. Even if that was exactly how she'd spent the majority of her day.

“Heya, doll-face,” he greeted and mounted the steps, two at a time. “Fancy a ride?”

A ride would certainly dry the sheen of sweat on her limbs and take the edge off the heat, but she wasn't dressed for an outing, back roads or otherwise. She wanted to read and melt into a puddle right there on the porch without distraction.

And what a distraction he was. His big, broad smile brought a flush to her cheeks that had absolutely nothing to do with the temperature.

“I shouldn't,” she said. “My father isn't home.”

“He won't mind if you're with me,” Seifer said.

“Just because he likes you doesn't mean you can just abscond with me any time it tickles your fancy,” she teased.

“You make it sound like I'm trying to steal you,” he said.

“Aren't you?” she threw back.

Seifer grinned and moved closer.

“Maybe I am,” he said.

He took both of her hands, still smiling impishly, and leaned down to press his lips against hers. Rinoa gave herself three seconds to enjoy the softness of his mouth, to enjoy the thrill of a stolen kiss before she was forced to push him away.

Not that she wanted to, but any one of the many household staff could see and report back to her father. That was the absolute last thing she needed.

Her father was already on her case about everything, from her choice of friends to what she read, to how much she ate of what, and what time she came home. She didn't need to be accused of behaving like a loose floozy, on top of all that. 

That would inevitability lead to a lecture. A girl as smart and capable and attractive as she was should have no problem finding a marriageable suitor. Another year or two, and she would be an old maid who would be a burden on her widowed father for the rest of his days. And how was she supposed to find a suitable husband if she ran around town with young men and women of questionable backgrounds? She'd heard it a thousand times.

Maybe that was why her father liked Seifer. Seifer was rock-solid upper-class, or so he appeared. Rinoa had never asked about where he got his money. She, like her father, assumed he came from a good family based on the way he behaved and dressed, not to mention, the extremely expensive toy parked on her lawn. Seifer Almasy was everything a future father-in-law hoped for in a match for his daughter.

Something about that stirred up feelings of rebellion in her.  If her father liked him, something must be off. 

"Just a quick drive," Seifer said.  "I'll have you back before anyone knows you're gone." 

“I _can't_ ,” she said. “But you're welcome to visit out here. Would you like some lemonade?”

He seemed cross for a second, but then sat on the porch swing and stretched out like he owned it.

“Come sit next to me,” he said.

“You know I can't.”

She returned to the wicker chair by the rail and sat primly on the edge of the cushion. There was a long beat of silence while Seifer basked in the sweltering heat.

What could they talk about to fill the silence?

“You haven't introduced me to your family yet," she said, after wracking her brain for a topic to discuss.  "Will I get to meet them?" 

“Play your cards right and you might,” he said and smiled that easy smile. “It's not every girl I take home to meet my mother, you know.”

Seifer knew her father professionally, though what her father's job had to do with _him_ , Rinoa didn't know. Fury Caraway worked for the Justice Department as a top general in the fight against bootlegging and illegal sale of alcohol. Maybe, their families just ran in the same circles and knew each other socially.

“After three dates, you'd think I'd have already met her,” Rinoa said. “Especially since you and my father are thick as thieves these days.”

“What father wouldn't want a guy like me courting his daughter?”

"Well, well," Rinoa said, only half teasing. "Don't be modest or anything. And who said anything about _courting_?"

Seifer just smiled and buffed his manicured fingernails on his rolled up sleeve. 

“Is that what you're up to?” Rinoa asked. “Because I've heard otherwise.”

“Oh, have you?” he asked and narrowed his eyes. “Do tell.”

“Everyone's saying you're a cad,” Rinoa said lightly, her tone verging on flirtatious. “That you'll break my heart and be onto the next gal within a week.”

His smile was enigmatic, but he didn't get a chance to answer. Her father's Ford Model T rolled up beside the breezer and they both stood to greet him.

Caraway seemed unusually pleased and bounded up the steps, his hand outstretched to shake Seifer's.

“Good to see you, son,” Caraway said.

“I appreciate you taking the time to see me today, Sir,” Seifer said easily.

Rinoa wanted to ask why Seifer wanted to see her father in the middle of the afternoon. He couldn't possibly be thinking of doing something foolish like asking permission to marry her. Three dates for some people was as good as an engagement, true enough, but Rinoa was _not_ ready for that. Not with Seifer, or with anyone else.

“Let's go inside,” Caraway said. “Rinoa, why don't you see about getting us some lemonade?”

Caraway didn't wait for her answer. He ushered Seifer inside the house, making small talk about the heat, as if summer in the south wasn't always miserable. Rinoa trailed behind, both relieved and flustered over this development.

She knew one thing. Seifer had known she would say _no_ to taking a drive. He wouldn't have asked if she was sure to say _yes_. It would have interfered with whatever was going on in her father's office.

How very sneaky and calculatung of him.

What was he up to?

In the kitchen, she filled two glasses with lemonade and ferried them to her father and his guest, both of whom ignored her like she was one of the housekeeping staff.

Irked by her father's dismissal, Rinoa stormed upstairs to her room to ponder her potential reaction to a proposal of marriage at this stage in their relationship.

It was too soon. People would talk. They would assume she'd gotten knocked-up like some back-alley Sally, and Seifer was trying to do the right thing and make an honest woman of her.

She tried to picture it. Her life as a domestic woman, as someone's _wife_. Cooking and cleaning and directing the house staff while she prepared for afternoon tea with the Women's Temperance Committee. Pretending to be interested in the latest gossip and fielding questions about when they planned to start their family. Children were a blessing. Bearing a whole litter was her duty as a woman.

One of her school friends already had two children, less than a year apart. The poor girl seemed so miserable and tired and so disappointed in her situation. The children were cute, but to Rinoa, they also looked like a pair of manacles, shackling her to a life and a role that she was not yet ready to face.

She flopped onto her bed and stared at the ceiling until she heard their voices carry up from the foyer. Pleasantries, polite laughter, then her father called her name.

Grudgingly, she got up, arranged herself back into something presentable and took her time descending the stairs. Seifer smiled appreciatively and Rinoa's ire quieted. Even in the dim light, his eyes were bright and warm.

She supposed it wouldn't be so bad, to be married to a man like him. She could do a lot worse.

At the bottom of the stairs, Rinoa took note of her father's tired eyes and the distinct scent of alcohol bleeding from his pores.

 _Hypocrite_ , she thought.

“Before I forget,” Seifer said, “I've made reservations for dinner at the Esthar Hotel tomorrow night at eight for the three of us.”

Rinoa glanced at her father, and then back to Seifer.

Well, well. He was going all out, wasn't he? The Esthar Hotel's restaurant was the best in the county by far, and both expensive and upscale. But dinner with Seifer and her father was bound to be uncomfortable and boring. They'd spend all evening talking about politics and the endless fight against the demon alcohol. Her lady-opinions would be ignored or scoffed at, so she would spend the entire meal being seen and not heard.

“I appreciate the offer,” her father said, “but I'll have to decline. You kids have fun without me.”

“I won't take no for an answer,” Seifer said. “We'd love to have you there.”

“I'm afraid I'd only be a third wheel,” her father said. He patted Seifer's shoulder.  “Be sure to have her home by midnight.”

“Yes, Sir,” Seifer said. “Not a minute later.”

Rinoa's insides quivered as Seifer smiled rakishly and winked.

It only occurred to her belatedly, they both just assumed she'd agree to a fourth date.

 

 

* * *

 

 

Selphie Tilmitt charged up the stairs toward Rinoa's bedroom, calling out a cheerful greeting to Mr. Caraway on the way up, and burst into her friend's room without knocking. She held up a battered leather traveling bag and shook it in front of Rinoa's bewildered face.

“You're going out tonight,” Selphie announced.

“You really think my father will allow me to go out after dark?' Rinoa asked. “With _you_?”

“That was three years ago!” Selphie said. “Talk about holding onto a grudge.”

“You drove his car into the creek,” Rinoa reminded her, “and left me ossified on the front porch. I threw up on his shoes. You have only yourself to blame if he thinks you're a bad influence."

Selphie giggled and plopped onto the bed. That had been a good night. And so what if maybe Selphie had been arrested once or twice over silly things?  This town was full of uptight prudes who hated fun. 

She tugged down the edges of her olive green turban to hide the biggest part of her surprise, and made doe eyes at her friend.

“Dont'cha even wanna know where we're going?”

“I afraid to ask,” Rinoa said. “And before you say anything, I'm not interested in going to a rub. I'm not a baby.”

“We're too old for all that,” Selphie said. She elbowed Rinoa in the side. “Pair of old maids like us.”

Rinoa frowned and she turned her head toward the window, where the light was steadily fading from the day. Something was off about her friend. Rinoa was usually a lot more enthusiastic about potential criminal mischief than this.

“What's got you all balled up?” Selphie asked. “Your Pops on your case again?”

Rinoa shrugged.

“It's a lot of things,” Rinoa said.

“That sounds like a good excuse to climb out your window tonight and go blow off some steam,” Selphie said. She opened the bag, hoping to tempt Rinoa with what was inside. “Wearing this!"

Selphie held up a pale blue dress covered in shiny sequins and beaded fringe with one hand, and in her other hand, presented Rinoa a pair of matching kitten heeled t-straps.

“Ta-da!”

Rinoa blinked at the shimmering dress.

“What is this?”

“A _dress_ , silly,” Selphie said. “And you're gonna wear it.”

“Where would I wear this?” Rinoa asked. She took the dress and held it against her body. “It's indecent.”

Selphie stood up, whipped off her cape and hat to reveal her new look. She gave a little shimmy, causing the feathered fringe at the hem of her sheath of a dress to flutter around her thighs, and her new, short, flipped-out bobbed haircut to bounce.

Rinoa's face registered shock at the sight of Selphie's once-long locks sheared off to just below her ears.

“Say something, Rin,” Selphie said. “Don't just stare like I grew a pair of horns.”

“What did you _do_?” Rinoa asked breathlessly.

“Dont'cha like it?”

“It's... drastic.”

“That's the point!” Selphie said. “And anyways, I'll fit right in.”

“Where? A flop house?”

“The Speakeasy!” Selphie cried.

Rinoa stiffened and laid a finger over her lips.

“We don't say that word in this house,” Rinoa said. “Especially not so loud.”

Selphie flopped back on the bed and sprawled out with her arms flung over her head. This was not going as well as she expected.

“ _Please_ go with me, Rin.  We're going to have so much fun!” Selphie said. “Besides, I want you to meet my new guy.”

“At a Speakeasy.”

“He owns the place, so we'll be well looked after,” Selphie said. “There's going to be a band, and dancing, and good looking boys... and drinks...”

“Do you know how much trouble I'll be in if someone recognizes me?” Rinoa asked.

Selphie grinned and reached for her bag again. From inside, she produced a short, bobbed blonde wig and a beaded headband with a feather.

“Problem solved,” Selphie said. “A little make-up and no one will know it's you.”

“This is a terrible idea.”

“I know," Selphie said, impish and grinning. 

Rinoa accepted the wig and pulled it down over her head. Strands of dark brown hair stuck out from underneath.  Selphie tucked them under and noted that Rinoa didn't look terrible as an ice blonde. It wasn't quite her color, but she could pull it off. The lighting in Irvine's joint was dim enough that no one would notice anyway. 

"So, are you in?" Selphe asked.  

Rinoa smiled and ran her hands over the dress again.  Her melancholy resolved itself into something a little more familiar.

“Of course I am.”


	2. Chapter 2

 

 

 

 

 

* * *

Squall Leonhart piloted the small, flat-bottomed boat through the swamp, taking his time to navigate the clusters of cypress knees both above and below the surface. Water lapped at the sides of his boat, clear, but tinted the color tea from chemicals released by the roots of the cypress and mangroves that flourished here. A few meters away, a pair of reptilian eyes watched his slow progress, uninterested if it couldn't easily make a meal of him.

He didn't fear this place like so many of the locals did. He liked the quiet, savage wildness of the swamp and wetlands. He liked the solitude it offered - encountering another soul out here was rare unless he sought the company of others. He could die out here and no one would know, but there was nothing here that could kill him any faster than his more civilized enemies could.

Sometimes, he came out here to get away from reality, for a moment of silence in a world that never stopped. Today, his reasons were business and not personal.

He angled the boat around a bend and through a narrow inlet, past thick palmetto that he had to fend off with an arm to keep from getting smacked in the face, until he reached a small shack on pilings above the water.

Irvine waited on the porch, his long hair tied back from his face, and the sleeves of a blue work shirt rolled up to his elbows. Squall killed the trolling motor and let the boat drift toward a short dock next to a much larger craft built for transporting goods.

"Bag man's always on time," Irvine said.

"I'm the bill collector," Squall pointed out. He climbed from the boat and tied it to a piling. "There's a difference."

Irvine clapped him on the shoulder and Squall pulled away. This was business, not a friendly chat.

"Look, I'm a little short -" Irvine began.

"Then the delivery will be a little short."

"Cut me some slack. I had some unexpected expenses this week," Irvine said.

Squall crossed his arms over his chest.

"Expenses."

"Taxes," Irvine said. "The  _off-the-books_  kind."

Squall sighed and uncrossed his arms. He pinched the bridge of his nose. This was getting out of hand.

"You pay no one for safety but us," Squall said.

"They were Feds," Irvine said. "I didn't have a choice."

"Feds?" Squall asked. Not much surprised him, but this did. "Who?"

"I don't know, just some low-level guys," Irvine said. "Name-dropped some bigwigs, waved some guns and badges around, said some things like  _incarceration_  and  _firing squad_... Figured paying them was better than bringing the law down on us."

Squall agreed, but he did not like the law knowing names and locations. That didn't bode well for their operation. He needed to talk to Cid.

"Listen, these rubes pay premium when they're blotto," Irvine said. "Give me two hours and you and me are square. Whatddaya say?"

Cid would not like Squall fronting anyone product, not even family.  _Especially_  not family. Cash first, you get what you pay for. Irvine knew the deal. Nothing had changed, and being well-acquainted with both Squall and the boss did not give Irvine any special allowances.

"Two hours plus a bonus," Irvine said. "Say twenty clams?"

Squall considered it.

"Fifty."

"You're killing me. Do you know how busy it's gonna be tonight?"

Squall did. Irvine's joint, though not advertised or legal, was a busy place on Friday nights. Too busy, in Squall's opinion. A spot that drew too many people would eventually draw the notice of people Irvine didn't want to be noticed by.

But that wasn't Squall's problem. His only concern was selling what he had, to people who wanted to buy it.  _Discreetly_.

"It's that, or you get what you can pay for now."

"Alright, alright," Irvine said. "Fifty."

Satisfied, Squall followed Irvine inside the shack. It smelled of sawdust and tanning chemicals and swamp water. Squall found the combination oddly comforting.

Gator hides hung from drying racks on one side, a pair of industrial pedal driven sewing machines and rolls of fine brocade fabric were parked at the back, and an assortment of woodworking tools and equipment took up the remaining wall. Above was a lofted area that contained both supplies and a small sleeping quarters for the times when Irvine, with his dual livelihoods, could rest if he didn't feel like going home.

Squall considered this set-up an oasis and he envied Irvine his privacy. If he didn't have his own set of dueling responsibilities, he'd consider a situation like this for himself, tucked away from the world where he didn't have to interact with anyone unless he felt like it.

A shotgun lay across the worktable in the middle of the room, no doubt loaded and ready for either a passing gator, or unexpected and unwelcome visitors. Next to the shotgun, sewing patterns were laid out for something Squall could not identify.

"Reverend Dobe ordered a custom set of gator hide lounge chairs," Irvine explained, mistaking Squall's casual glance for interest. "Guy's mad for the stuff."

"I thought he condemned hunting for sport," Squall said, more to fill the silence than anything.

"He's got a special kind of love for reptiles," Irvine said. "Heard a gator almost took his leg off when he was younger, tryin'ta cast the devil from the swamp."

If it was true, Squall would not be surprised. Dobe was a zealot who believed God gave him the power to heal in his name and collected a handsome fortune annually from the foolish and the desperate. Squall wouldn't go so far as to call him a charlatan, since he believed his own bushwa, but Dobe's methods put him in the same category. The man relied on theatrics and illusion and fear to con hard-earned money from patrons that were already strapped for cash.

What was worse, Dobe turned around and spent that cash on luxurious furniture and hundred-dollar suits.

"It'll put me back in the black, at least," Irvine said with an easy smile, "and I can get back to hunting and drinking and breaking the law."

It wasn't in Squall's nature to question things that weren't his business, but every now and then, he wondered why Irvine ran a Speakeasy on the side. He could have made a decent living off making furniture. He was good at it. His pieces were high-quality, almost works of art, if a piece of furniture could be called art, and among certain circles, his creations were in high demand. The wealthy loved the exotic, and they paid handsomely for it.

The only answer Squall could come up with was  _women_. A Speakeasy was the perfect place for the kind of ladies Irvine liked – spirited, exciting, and free with affection. Something he was hard-pressed to find in Balamb, where by the light of day, everyone pretended to be upstanding, respectable citizens who followed the rules of decorum to the letter.

Irvine dropped a paper bag beside the shotgun on the table. Squall picked it up.

It was light. A lot lighter than he expected, even after being told the payment was short.

Squall lifted an eyebrow.

"Do I need to count it?"

"You'll get it all. Promise."

"You don't want Cid coming around later, asking questions."

"That I don't," Irvine said. "Heya, my girl's gonna be there tonight. She's bringing a friend. Real choice bit of calico, from the sound of it. I could introduce you."

Irvine wiggled his eyebrows, somehow managing to look ridiculous and suggestive at the same time.

"Don't change the subject," Squall said.

Irvine almost looked disappointed.

"I'll be there around midnight," Squall said. "I expect you'll make good on this. You're not the only one in deep shit if you don't."

* * *

Rinoa dropped her bag over the edge of the roof and shimmied down a branch of the massive, but gnarled oak tree just outside her bedroom. This tree had aided and abetted many such outings over the years, and in near darkness, she found the old-familiar footholds among the branches with confidence as she descended.

It had been some time since she'd stolen away under the cover of night without her father's permission or knowledge. The last time was Selphie's idea too, during a heat wave in late spring. They'd gone swimming in the quarry in just their underthings, floating on their backs under a sky full of stars.

They'd talked about running away to the city. Selphie would become a famous actress or a gangster's wife or maybe both. Rinoa would...

What?

She'd been unable to come up with anything exciting. Selphie had called her an empty-headed conformist with no imagination. Rinoa might have accidentally almost drowned her on purpose, and afterwards they sat on a downed log and shared a pint of Mr. Tilmitt's homemade brandy.

Rinoa smiled at the memory as her feet hit the ground. Selphie could always be counted on to lift her spirits, even if her methods were unconventional and would eventually land Rinoa in jail if they kept on.

She patted the tree's rough trunk, picked up the bag containing her costume for the night, and hurried around the side of the house to the narrow path that would lead her down to the creek. From there, she would follow the bank to the bridge, where Selphie would be waiting.

A man stepped out in front of her, blocking her path. His hands were stuffed deep into the pockets of battered denim pants that were too big and too long for his frame. Rinoa stopped in her tracks and almost turned back around and ran for the house.

"And where are we off to?" Zone asked.

Rinoa heaved a breath at the sight of her old friend. Zone was her first childhood playmate, years before Selphie or any of the daughters of her father's associates. She had fond memories of building forts and lean-to structures with him in the woods before her mother died, and before her father decided the son of the groundskeeper wasn't an appropriate friend for his girl.

"Out," she said. "You gonna tell on me?"

"Nah," he said. "Stick it to the old man, right?"

Rinoa smiled uneasily. If they were still friends, why did this feel so awkward? Like she was betraying her dearest, oldest pal in the world?

"Do I wanna know where you're going?"

"You really don't," she said. "You'd think I'd lost my mind."

Zone clutched his stomach and gasped quietly, his teeth a blue-white in the moonlight. He'd always had a nervous stomach. Rinoa wondered what he could be nervous about. It wasn't the first time he'd caught her sneaking out. Sometimes, he even joined in, when Selphie thought to invite him along, which was less and less often these days.

"Don't take any wooden nickles," he said through clenched teeth. "And be careful. All kinds of dangerous types around these days."

"I will," Rinoa promised. "See ya, Zone."

Rinoa felt his eyes on her, like those of a worried big brother who knew better than to challenge her choices, and hurried off down the path. She felt guilty about leaving him behind. Not just about this, but for all the years between childhood and now.

Near the magnolia tree at the end of the path, a familiar rectangular tomb of marble seemed to glow like a beacon in the night. Above it, a weeping angel knelt, head bowed, her wings half unfurled. Here, Rinoa stopped and brushed debris of twigs and leaves from the top and ran her fingers over the inscription in stone.

"Hi Mom," she said softly. "I miss you."

Predictably, her mother didn't answer.

Why would she? She'd gone and died and left Rinoa alone to navigate the world on her own. Sometimes, Rinoa resented her for not being there for the milestones, but most of the time, her absence just hurt.

She lingered only a moment longer, wondering what her mother would make of her sneaking out like this.

In her memories, her mother was a free-spirit, a woman who sometimes eschewed social norms when they were alone for the sake of comfort. A woman who lounged on the porch in just her slip on a hot day and encouraged her young daughter to dip her hands into mud to find crawfish and snails, and who taught Rinoa to speak up for herself and follow her heart.

This wasn't exactly following her heart, but maybe it was a step in the right direction.

She continued on until she reached the bridge, where Selphie was waiting in her father's old jalopy. The machine was little more than a wagon with a motor and a steering wheel, but Selphie adored it, and Rinoa didn't blame her. It gave the working-class Selphie Tilmitt more freedom than Rinoa in some ways, including the freedom to come and go as she pleased. Any given day, she could be seen racing up the road, bound for who-knows-where, going as fast as the jalopy would take her.

The locals gossiped endlessly about the impoverished ragamuffin in her devil wagon, but Selphie didn't care. The only thing Selphie cared about was making the most of her youth, boys, and partying.

If Rinoa ever asked her father to let her drive his car, he would laugh her out of the house. He claimed women were not physically or emotionally capable of handling a vehicle, even if that myth and been disproved a long time ago. Rinoa suspected his claims were more rooted in a need to keep her in her place than in a sincere belief that she was too stupid to drive.

Maybe Seifer would let her drive his car. Heck, he might even get a kick out of teaching her.

"Hop in!" Selphie said. "Time's a wastin'!"

Selphie's jalopy started to move as Rinoa seated herself, and she held on for dear life as the car tore down the road, clouds of dust billowing behind them.

"Where is this place, anyway?" Rinoa asked over the loud, puttering motor.

"Out in the sticks," Selphie said. "Don't worry, though. We'll be perfectly safe."

Safety was less a concern than her father finding out she'd been seen in an illegal establishment, drinking illegal liquor, in less than desirable company. She didn't want to think about what he would do if she was caught breaking the very laws he sought to enforce every day.

But to hell with his laws and his rules. She wanted to be as free as anyone else to enjoy the world and all its many offerings, both good and bad. She could make her own decisions independent of him.

Selphie steered the car away from town, through the farm fields and pastures, where frantic cows ran from the roar of Selphie's engine.

" _Mooooo! Mooo-OOOOO_!" Selphie cried at the fleeing bovines, then dissolved into laughter. "You'd think they'd get used to it after a while. Poor stupid things. They should be running toward me!"

"Nobody will ever get used to your driving," Rinoa said. "You are the reason men think women should be banned from the roads."

"Let them fear me!" Selphie shouted. "I am a force unto myself!"

Rinoa laughed and latched onto the bench as Selphie took a curve too fast. It might be terrifying, but there was also something thrilling about almost dying on the way to some alcohol fueled misadventure in the sticks. Her heart pumped with anticipation, eager for the experience ahead of her. She might hate it, it might be the worst thing she'd ever done, but she would never know if she didn't try.

The farm fields gave way to pine forest. The road narrowed and twisted into the trees, nothing visible beyond the headlamp. Selphie slowed marginally and Rinoa clutched her bag tighter in anticipation of an announcement that they were lost.

Of  _course_  they were lost. It was  _Selphie_ , whose enthusiasm for adventure often got in the way of logic, much like Rinoa's own natural rebelliousness often canceled out common sense.

"I really like this guy, Rinny," Selphie said seriously as she slowed to a stop. "He's not like the other boys."

"Aw, go tell it to Sweeny," Rinoa said. "Heard it before."

"I mean it this time," Selphie said. "He's the hippo's ankles."

"Is he the bee's knees?"

"The rooster's toneails!" Selphie exclaimed, catching onto the game. "I really, really think he's the one."

Selphie always said that. This one was the one, that one was the one, then she'd get bored and move on to the next one. Rinoa suspected it would be the same this time. Two, three weeks would go by and there would be some new guy, who would also be the one.

"I'm excited to meet him," Rinoa said.

"Maybe there'll be someone there for you," Selphie said.

"I already have someone," Rinoa said. "Remember?"

"Oh sure, Seifer's great," Selphie said, "if you wanna spend the rest of your life pretending you love afternoon tea and advocating for the Decency League."

"He's not that bad."

"Of course he's not," Selphie said, "right  _now_. But as soon as he's got a manacle on you, things'll change. Mark my words. You'll be arm candy till he knocks you up, and then  _boom_! Suddenly, you're up to your elbows washing diapers and mending and housework and you'll disappear."

"Maybe not," Rinoa said. "Anyway, he's not living in the last century. I won't be locked away, never to be heard from again."

"If you are, I'll come looking," Selphie promised. "And I'll bust you out! And then set his car on fire for good measure."

"I don't think that will be necessary," Rinoa said, but she laughed. If Selphie ever perceived even the slightest hint of injustice, she would come running. Which was why they were friends. "Anyway, we're not that serious yet."

"Which is why it can't hurt to look," Selphie said. "You never know. There might be some dashing stranger in there who makes Seifer look posi-lute-ly dull in comparison. Imagine, If you will, " she splayed out her fingers, her eyes twinkling. "Your eyes meet his across the room. You can't look away, and  _he_  can't look away. He's handsome and dangerous and he sweeps you off your feet, takes you on a wild, romantic adventure..."

Rinoa giggled. It sounded like the plot of one of those silly novels she enjoyed reading for the escapism of it all. Terrifying pirates with frozen hearts of gold. Cowboys who pretended to care about nothing but guns and women. Bad boys who broke all the rules.

"And then what?" Rinoa asked. "After the romance stops?"

"You find somebody new, and if he doesn't work out, there'll be somebody else," Selphie said easily. "Until you find the one. Easy-peasy."

Rinoa shook her head and laughed at her friend's philosophy on romance, as charming and unrealistic as it was. Selphie tried on men like most tried on hats. It was as if Selphie was addicted to the newness of a fling, but once it lost that luster, she moved on, leaving a trail of heartbroken and confused men in her wake.

From what Rinoa could tell, whirlwind romance had no place in the real world. Selphie was the only one who'd been swept off her feet by a man's attentions, and that was perhaps by design. Selphie could turn anything into something more exciting than it was.

Up ahead, the trees thinned and lights were visible in the distance. As they drew closer, Rinoa saw a barn, surrounded by cars of all kinds. People milled about, some openly drinking on the hoods of their cars, others dancing to the music that spilled out from inside.

"Here we are!" Selphie cried. "Tonight's gonna be berries, Rin. Now, we just gotta get inside and get you dressed!"

Selphie parked and leaped out, not waiting for Rinoa, and charged across the lawn to a side door and banged a series of elaborate knocks upon it.

" _What's the password_?"

"Exeter!" Selphie said.

" _And who's the most handsome guy in the whole county?"_

"Let me in, Irvy!"

_"Not until you answer the question, darlin'."_

"You are, Irvy!" Selphie said and turned so Rinoa could see her exaggerated eye roll. "Now open the door before I bust it down myself!"

The door swung open and Selphie rushed inside to throw herself at a tall, pony-tailed man in a pinstripe shirt and suspenders. She kissed him on the mouth and his hands wandered down her back to settle on her waist.

Rinoa averted her eyes and waited for the kiss to end.

Irvine broke away when he noticed Rinoa standing there, and Selphie turned around, took Rinoa by the hand and dragged her inside a small office.

"You gonna introduce me to your friend?" Irvine asked.

"Buzz off, Irvy," Selphie said. "I've got work to do."

"As do I. Come find me later?" he said and kissed Selphie's cheek. To Rinoa, he said, "It was nice to  _not_  meet you."

"It's Rinoa," she said. "Nice to not meet you, too."

Irvine winked and exited, leaving Selphie and Rinoa alone in the office.

"First things first: get dressed," Selphie ordered.

She opened up a bag of her own and laid out an assortment of brushes, hair pins, and make up on the desk, while Rinoa slipped out of her rumpled day-dress and into the shimmering sheath.

It was a perfect fit but the hem fell just below her knees, revealing more leg than Rinoa was used to outside of her own bedroom. For a second, she imagined her father's face if he saw her out in public dressed like this. Then she pictured Seifer's. The latter was a much more pleasant image, so she went with that one and held out her arms for Selphie's inspection.

"What do you think?" she asked.

"It's perfect!" Selphie said. She took Rinoa by the shoulders and pushed her into a chair by the desk. "Now, just relax. You're gonna be the hottest tomato in the joint when I'm done with you."

Rinoa submitted to Selphie's brushes and hairpins, to rouge and kohl to line her eyes, but when Selphie produced a tube of lipstick in a dark red shade, Rinoa put her foot down.

"Not my color," Rinoa said.

"It'll look swell with that wig," Selphie said.

"I'll stick with my own," Rinoa said.

"Suit yourself," Selphie said.

Ten minutes later, Rinoa stepped into the the shoes and took a deep breath.

"You look like you just stepped out of a movie," Selphie said. "Those boys won't know what hit 'em! Except for Irvy. He's all mine, so don't get any bright ideas."

"He's not my type," Rinoa assured her.

"Alrighty," Selphie said, "You ready to party?"

"Ready as I'll ever be," Rinoa said.

* * *

Irvine's joint was busy when Squall arrived just before midnight, but he expected no less. It was the only place in the county that openly flaunted hedonism and mass consumption of alcohol like this. There were plenty of other, smaller venues in town that offered drink, they were just a lot more selective in who they served. Nor did they make it so obvious.

He banged on the back door and waited for someone to let him in.

" _Password_?"

"Whatever."

The door swung open and Zell ushered him inside, shame-faced, red-cheeked and reeking of booze. A girl in a bejeweled headband was perched on the edge of the desk, watching them with glassy eyes.

"Business," he said to the girl and hitched his thumb at the door. "I'll see you later."

"I better," she said flirtatiously. She flitted to Zell's side, kissed his cheek, and his blush deepened. "You promised me dinner."

"I did?" Zell asked. "Okay, yeah, sure. Dinner sometime."

Squall internally rolled his eyes. Zell clutched his heart and feigned weakness in the knees as the girl left.

"I can't tell if these girls like me because we supply the goods, or if they, you know, actually  _like_  me," Zell said.

"Does it matter?" Squall asked. "You're not supposed to be here."

"I know, I know," Zell said. "Just, she asked me to dance and I musta lost track of time."

"Hope Irvine's not giving you free drinks," Squall said. "You pay, just like everyone else."

Zell pulled a flask from his pocket.

"Get off my case. Brought my own."

Squall was in no mood to argue the point with him. Zell could do as he pleased in his spare time, even if this was not the smartest use of his time, given the givens.

"Where's Kinneas?"

"Bar. Tryin' to impress his new lady-friends."

"You should go home," Squall said. "Your Ma will worry."

"Yeah, yeah," Zell said. "I was on my way out anyway."

"Don't forget we've got a delivery in the morning."

"Esthar Hotel, I got it," Zell said with irritation. "I'll be there."

"Good."

Squall left the office and pushed his way through throngs of people having the time of their lives. A cloud of cigarette smoke hit him like a wall, and the brassy dance music assaulted his ears. He passed no less than three couples making out in dark corners and kept his eyes averted. The less he noticed that, the better off he was.

He'd never seen the appeal of places like this, where people stood shoulder to shoulder with strangers for no good reason other than to get drunk be seen participating in the forbidden.

His opinion didn't matter. This was a means to an end, and if he was lucky, the end would come soon.

He spotted Irvine behind the bar, where a young brunette lounged upon the wooden top, her arm draped around his neck and her dress hitched up past her knees. She laughed loudly at something he said and lifted a full glass of bourbon in the air.

The girl was cute, but it was the other one who caught his eye. Though dressed like the typical flapper and sporting a sleek blonde bob, she seemed out of place here. He couldn't say why. She was laughing at whatever Irvine's girl said, and she lifted her own glass in response, living it up just like everyone else.

Nothing special. Just another empty-headed bird like the rest.

"Squall!" Irvine shouted over the music. "Come meet my girl!"

Squall didn't want to meet Irvine's girl. He wanted his money so he could call it a night and go home.

"It's midnight," Squall said. "Let's settle this."

"Right," Irvine said. His jolly expression fell as he reached under the bar. "It's all here, plus bonus."

Squall accepted the paper bag and tucked it into his pants pocket. Beside him, the blonde was staring. Squall stared back.

He had little time to entertain an interest in women or romance – he had more pressing matters to worry about. He was even less interested in blonde women, but there was something about this one he found incredibly attractive. There was something about her eyes that kept drawing him back, something about that almost-cocky smirk that he couldn't tear his eyes away from.

"Hi! I'm -" she said, then her eyes slid away, to something behind him. "Oh, no."

In a second, her curious, warm expression turned to terror and she grabbed him by the arm.

"Dance with me," she said.

Squall wasn't interested in dancing either, nor was he interested in staying any longer than he had to.

"I don't dance."

"I need to hide from someone," she said and forcibly dragged Squall to the dance floor. "I can't let him see me here."

That was not Squall's problem, but her hand tightened in his, and he was compelled to obey, to follow her into the mass of flailing people near the stage, consequences be damned.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading!


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